Overtime and Office Space
by D Veleniet
Summary: Everyone questioned the Doctor's wisdom as CEO when he hired an unemployed bartender named Clara, but she had quickly proved herself the perfect partner. Yet questions still remained – who was she? What was she hiding? Why did she deny any knowledge of computers? And the most unsettling: why did it seem she was always on the verge of running… Season 7b corporate AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these characters, but I am endlessly grateful that the BBC, Steven Moffat, Neil Gaiman and Russell T Davies won't sue me for using them without their permission. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note: **There was no category for "corporate thriller," but if I could call it that, I would, as that's what this will be. :-p Also, I've never read a DW corporate AU before (other than frombluetored's "Everest", which is where I got the idea from - many thanks to her for graciously allowing me to write what I dreamed up as kind of a prequel to her story! :)) - so apologies if this is similar to any others out there. Finally, a HUGE shout-out to my phenomenally fabulous beta, Friendship-Bravery-Souffles, who was nothing short of endlessly encouraging when I first spilled this out to her - and has been an amazing support with editing, idea-bouncing and helping me with titles. This story would not have been published without her, so - as always - many, many cheers for the unapologetically awesome V! :D

* * *

**_2014_**

_Clara was quiet during the car ride, the knot in her stomach intensifying as the limousine rolled inevitably towards their stop. The streets of New York sped by, their crisp blanketing of snow enabling her gaze to unfocus, gleaming, pristine white burning into her retinas, making them sting. She blinked several times against it, though mercifully, her tear ducts did not betray her. Her friends spared her any attempts at comforting or conversation, but she could still feel how their eyes flitted over her, would catch the occasional exchanged looks between them. She noted the sign as the limousine made a slow turn, and her gloved fingers tightened around the object in her lap. The driver kindly offered a hand to help her out of the car once they had arrived, but she ignored it, afraid to let go for even a second. She tried to pretend the Doctor's arm was around her, guiding her, tried to draw strength from his presence as she led the somber procession to the site. _

_It was a simple stone, like his instructions had indicated. No frills, no fuss, not even his real name. Just the name everyone knew and lines that summed him up perfectly:_

_THE DOCTOR_

_1975-2013_

_"I've never met anyone who wasn't important."_

_Unique in the Universe._

_She stared dry-eyed, the moment too surreal to be believed. The urn's patina caught the weak January sun peeking through the clouds, momentarily blinding her so she had to squeeze her eyes shut. Someone must have noticed as an arm came down heavily on her shoulders and she looked up to see Jack giving her a slight, reassuring nod. She tried for a smile, but she couldn't hold it and hugged the urn closer to her chest. _

_It hadn't left her sight since earlier that morning, nor would it leave her sight before she traveled with it to its final destination later that afternoon. Though thankfully, she would be making that journey alone. _

"_Clara? Do you want to say something?"_

_Jack's voice startled her out of her reverie, and she shot him a look, shaking her head quickly._

"_Okay. Well…do you mind if I do?"_

_She made some motion with her shoulders and her head that indicated she didn't. Or, at least, that she wasn't going to stop him._

_Jack clasped his hands in front of him. "Doctor…I just wanted you to know that – we already miss you. We'll always miss you. But we're doing our best here, trying to carry on without you. What we do – we do in your honor…in your name. So…we'll try not to screw it up too much." _

_Her lips twitched like a ghost of a smile might cross her face, but then they fell back into the straight line she'd maintained all day. She was counting down the hours, the minutes, until she could deliver this urn. Until she could be done with it and finally set her emotions free. _

_Jack had broken out a flask, and he raised it morosely in salute. "To the Doctor."_

_Clara watched as he passed it to Ianto, who followed suit, one arm going around his husband's shoulders. He then passed it on to Idris, who shot Jack a frown. But she took it sighing, saluted the Doctor and passed it to Vastra, who looked skeptically at the flask before reluctantly taking it, too. Jenny took it from her, taking a tentative sip, then tried to offer it to Strax but was met with a scowl. So she handed it off to Craig and Sophie, who each gave the Doctor a heartfelt salute. Finally, Sophie held it up questioningly to Clara, but Clara refused, willing time to speed along, praying that they'd reached the end of their sad little gathering._

_When the group finally parted ways, she walked with quick steps back to the limo, which was now blessedly empty. Once inside, she slid down into the seat, still clutching the urn like a lifeline._

_She would take it to its final destination._

_And the Doctor would know peace at last. _

* * *

**2013**

**Prologue – Madman With a Sock**

"You know…I was just thinking…"

"Hmmm…?"

"And this is not because I'm complaining, because believe me – I am definitely _not_ complaining…"

"Mmhmmm?"

"But I was just thinking…that if we lived together, we could continue to have sex in my desk chair, but we could do it within the privacy of our own home."

The Doctor felt Clara tense as her chest filled with a predicable sigh. "Doctor…"

"Or –" He barreled on. "Or…if we were married, then we could keep having sex in my desk chair, but it would be _our _desk chair because technically you would own half of it according to New York state law."

She guffawed. "Do you really think Idris would let me come within a fifty-mile radius of owning half of your property?"

The air went out of his lungs like a deflated balloon. "You let me deal with Idris…"

"I don't think she'd let me own half of your anything…maybe half of the arm…" She stroked the arm in question with her toes before replacing her leg across his. "On second thought, it's a big arm so she'd probably only let me have about a third of it…maybe a fifth if she was _really _in a mood."

"You know that she could only control that in a prenuptial agreement, and technically, that's only if the marriage -"

"I know." She snuggled further into his lap. "And I'm not saying things would go that way, but…we've talked about this, Doctor."

He stiffened in her embrace. "Actually, we haven't. Usually what happens is that I bring it up and you tell me you don't want to talk about it right now, and then we don't. But that doesn't mean that we've _actually _talked about it."

Unsurprisingly, Clara responded to this with silence.

He started playing with her hair, taking her lack of reply as encouragement. "You already run half the company with me - why it would be such a problem if you owned half of it, too?"

Her head moved beneath his fingers like she didn't want to say. Or possibly it was just another shake.

"What? Everyone trusts you now – and all our clients know that the CEO doesn't come without his Chief Strategic Officer at his side." He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "And everyone knows about what happened…before. You remember the reassuring emails you received after the trial, eh?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She was tracing random patterns on his chest with the tip of her finger. "But what about the High Council?"

His head fell back against the cushion as he let out a groan. "Out of all the things that were said that night, why does _that _stick the most? Especially since it's the most likely to come back and bite me in the arse, calling the Board of Directors the High Council of…what did I call them again?"

She giggled. "You called them Lords of Time because of how concerned they are with punctuality."

"Well, they are! You'd think that if you got to live the poshest life imaginable, sipping maitais or martinis on a secluded island in the middle of nowhere, that you wouldn't be so _obsessed_ with time!"

She craned her neck to look at him. "Says the man who can go to his own private island and sip maitais and martinis and still manage to worry about all of the things he's missing while he's gone."

The Doctor couldn't tell whether that was admiration or admonishment in her tone. "At least I don't sit back like a Lord, letting the world turn on its axis and make a vow never to interfere in anyone's business."

She gave him an affectionate peck. "No, you don't. You interfere _every_ time."

"Oh, I _interfere_, do I?"

"Help," she corrected quickly.

He smiled. "Ha. You love that I interfere."

"Yep. Just one of the many, many things…"

"Ah - many, many, eh?" He leaned in for a longer, deeper kiss. "What else have you got on this very long list, Clara Oswald?" She opened her mouth to reply, but his finger went to her lips, silencing her. "Wait. No. Don't tell me." He dropped his finger, reaching for her hand instead which he began peppering with kisses. "I want you…to write it down."

Her expression was somewhere between bemusement and active questioning of his sanity. "O…kay."

"Yes." He continued to kiss her hand, concentrating on the fingers. "Write it all down, and then don't let me read it and don't let me see it."

"Um…"

He laid feathery kisses on her palm. "Keep it tucked away somewhere I won't find it."

"So…you want me to write something down that you're never going to read?"

"Yes. No! Well…sort of. That is – you'll keep it hidden until the day that you read it to me."

Her face scrunched up. "Right…so I'm gonna go through the trouble of writing down all the things I love about you, make sure I keep it hidden, and then one random day, you'll ask me to read them to you?"

"Exactly! Well, no – not one _random_ day. One very _specific_ day, of course."

She looked like she was edging towards annoyance now. "And that would be when?"

He deliberately turned her hand over, grasping it in both of his and laid a very soft kiss on the back of it, whilst gazing down into her eyes. "On our wedding day."

All traces of annoyance vanished, replaced by a watery smile. "Proud of yourself for that one?" she asked hoarsely.

"Extremely," he replied, which was utterly belied by his lovelorn expression.

She raised her head a bit, brushing her nose against his sweetly. "I would _love _to be married to you, Doctor..."

He let the moment wash over him, basking in the glow of what was arguably the closest to an acceptance he'd ever received. "And I would _love_ to be married to you, too. So…can't we just stop there?"

She sighed, leaning her forehead into his. "We can't," she whispered.

And just like that, the glow was gone, like someone had snuffed it out. "Why not?"

Though there was a definite longing there, he couldn't miss the determined set of her jaw. "Because we have to think about what's good for TARDIS…and you know that the High Council would never approve of it."

He scoffed. "I am _not_ letting a bunch of, of – _Time Lords_ – dictate who I marry!"

"Exactly." She flashed him a rueful smile. "And that's why you've got me – because it's my job to think of things like that. They know TARDIS is _your _love, your life –"

"_You're_ my love and life." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, feeling immediately sheepish at his soppiness. But Clara didn't seem to mind, giving him a look that could very well have melted him into a puddle on the floor. So he kissed her again, opting not to displace her from her very comfortable position in his lap. "And anyway, TARDIS has become your love and life, too, right?"

"You know it is," she replied emphatically, patting his chest as if to emphasize her words. "But you've been running it for almost fifteen years – it's your baby. Sure, they haven't minded the other people who've helped you run it along the way – but only as long as it stays entirely within your hands, your control. Same goes for the clients, Doctor – they might like me well enough, yeah, but…I'm still just the unemployed bartender and part-time daycare operator you randomly brought in to help you run your company two years ago."

The Doctor sputtered. "_Just_ the unemployed bartender -!"

"With no business experience –"

"_What_?! How can you say you have no business experience after –"

"First impressions, Doctor. Yeah, they know about everything now, but when you first brought me in – that's all they saw. And that's all they'll see again if they know that I have just as much of a say as you do in how we run TARDIS."

The Doctor clasped his hands around her face, staring into it intently. "But you already _do_ have an equal say in how we run TARDIS – and everyone knows that. Even the High Council of Time Lords."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "But no matter what practices are already going on, _everything_ changes once you legalize something. It becomes more official – more public."

He shot her a gloomy look. "Now you sound like Idris…"

She shrugged lightly. "As much as I hate to admit it…she'd bring up things like this, and I wouldn't be able to argue with them. That's why she's such a brilliant General Counsel." She reached up and stroked his face, as if she thought that would somehow cushion the blow of her rejection. "We'll still be – y'know – you and me, continue as we have before, and…" She trailed off as he evaded her touch. "Doctor –" she protested as he nudged at her to get off his lap.

He busied himself with retrieving various articles of his clothing in silence: pants, trousers, his shirt, tie and one sock. Seizing the opportunity to put some distance between them, he sat on the settee, starting with the sock.

He heard her sigh, then start to pick up her own clothing. By the time she'd found her knickers and dropped onto the settee next to him he was up again. Fully dressed but for one sock.

"Now you know why I never wanted to talk about this," she muttered as she pulled on her skirt.

"Have you seen my sock?" He tried to retrace their steps, from the moment she'd entered his office to where they'd ended in his chair. There were only so many places it could be…

She ignored his question, her tone almost pleading. "You know that I'm only trying to think of what's best for the company."

"And you think I don't? How do you think I've kept it going for fifteen years?" A quick lap around his desk proved fruitless in his search.

"I know, but…" She directed her attention to her blouse. "This is different. And you know it's different: some part of you knows I'm right, and that's why you're not arguing with me about it."

"No. The reason I'm not arguing with you about it is because I don't want to argue with you." He dropped to his hands and knees, peeking underneath his desk. "And also because I know you don't want to say what the real reason is."

She made a noise of insult. "What? What do you mean – 'the real reason?'"

He opened a drawer and searched for his penlight, but to no avail. "You said so yourself – legalizing it would make it official. Make it public." He sat back on his heels and tried to soften his expression. "You'd be in the spotlight…"

The speed at which she started erecting walls around herself was impressive. "So? I've done interviews and press since the trial."

"I know, but –"

"I didn't exactly make a run for it, if that's what you're implying."

The unmistakable hint of accusation stung him a little, but he knew she couldn't help it. "You _know_ I'm not."

She looked slightly chastened, ducking her head. "That part of my life is _over,_ Doctor." Her wide eyes implored him. "I'm never gonna go back to living like that."

"Of course you're not." Now he yearned to erase the distance between them, but there was still the chance he'd scare her off the topic - and then where would he be? "What I was trying to say is…if you were put in the middle of something so public, well…it wouldn't be very comfortable, would it?"

She regarded him thoughtfully, marks of apprehension between her brows and in the twist of her mouth. She finally shook her head.

"So…" He let his hands rise and fall, suddenly realising that he couldn't do that to her– that there was no solution to this. Though the other issues could be worked around – ownership of the company wouldn't change unless she specifically wanted a share of it – and he would just have to give Idris free rein of the prenuptial agreement she'd inevitably force on him at first - marrying him would mean Clara's name would be permanently attached to his every transaction, every appearance in the press. She would be thrust into a place that made her uncomfortable, and, after keeping to the shadows for so long, he imagined how that could feel downright unbearable.

There was no way they could get married and not have it become a public affair.

Unless…

_Unless_.

"So," he began carefully, talking it out. "Technically TARDIS is a limited liability company - ownership will remain the same regardless of my marital status. Which means that if my marital status were to change, nobody would _need_ to be informed…so what if everything continued as usual…except we'd discreetly be sharing a flat and also sort of happen to enjoy all of the other legal benefits of being married?"

The furrow of her brows deepened, which was a welcome change from the apprehension. "How would we do that?"

"Because we'd get married in secret."

"In _secret_?"

"Yes." The plan was starting to form, and he couldn't help his excited tone, excited enough to scoot over to her on his knees. "We could go to some private destination and have a quiet ceremony - even pass it off as a client visit."

She was biting her lip, which was a good sign. It meant she was actually considering it, instead of rejecting it immediately. "Some people _would_ need to be informed, though…"

"Such as?"

"Well, as much as I hate to say it – Idris would need to know. It's a legal transaction, even if it's not public."

The Doctor sighed. "Yes, I suppose. But let _me_ deal with her."

"And Vastra."

"Vastra?" He shot her a confused look. "Why would she need to know?"

Her head fell to the side as she regarded him incredulously. "Benefits, Doctor. Medical benefits would change – rather vital information for a Head of Human Resources. Plus, if we were living together, she'd need to know my new address so my paycheck didn't go to my current flat, right? And then if Vastra knows, Jenny would know by default."

"Eh? Oh, right…I keep forgetting that's a 'thing.'"

"Even if it wasn't a 'thing,' you'd have to tell her anyway. I'm guessing that would be pretty difficult to keep from your Executive Assistant – how could she not pick up on it with all the personal errands she does for you? Speaking of picking up on things – Jack will _definitely_ know."

"What?! The others – yes, I can see them, but - he's the Executive Director of Business Development. Why on earth would he need to know about _this_?"

Clara smirked. "I'm not saying he'd need to know for the company – but considering he's the first one who guessed that something was going on between us…he'll know. And that, of course, means Ianto will find out, too."

The Doctor reluctantly conceded with her. "Though I can't say the same for his husband, at least our Chief Financial Officer knows how to keep his mouth shut."

Clara blinked at him, then shook her head amusedly. "Oh, Doctor…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just another one of your unintentional gay innuendos about those two."

The Doctor gaped indignantly. "Again? How do I keep doing that?" He sat back on his heels in a huff.

She gave him an affectionate smile. "That'd actually probably go on my list…"

Something like hope started to stir in his chest, propelling him the slightest bit forward. "Your list? You mean – the one for…?"

"Oh, and speaking of those, my dad would need to know. He'd never forgive me if he didn't get to walk me down the aisle, regardless of what, or _where_, the 'aisle' is. And – while we're on the subject of people who'd never forgive me – pretty sure Sophie would never speak to me again if she didn't get an invite. So I guess that means Craig is coming, too."

The Doctor bit back a remark on her change of tenses, deciding to see how long it was before she noticed. "We'll give them plenty of advance warning so they can find a sitter for Alfie."

She flashed him an appreciative smile. "That'd be good, yeah. Rita wouldn't speak to me again, either, if she wasn't invited."

The Doctor forced a nonchalant shrug. "Always good to have tech support around, so she can monitor the servers, report if anything happens. Make sure TARDIS doesn't crash while we're away."

Clara nodded. "Strax won't care or want to know, so he can stay behind to hold down the fort."

"He'll probably be delighted to have all of us gone, just so he can test and re-test all of the security protocols without as many people complaining."

Clara winced. "Can't say I'm gonna be sad to miss that…sometimes I think he takes being Chief Security Officer a bit too seriously..."

The Doctor gave a slight nod, having to direct his attention to the floor so he wouldn't vibrate with excitement too noticeably. "Aha!" He spied the toe of his sock sticking out from under the settee and scooped it up triumphantly.

The look Clara was giving him was reminiscent of those times when she'd carefully arranged her features into something different than what she wanted him to see. "So," she began casually. "Did you notice that we seem to be talking about a guest list and not just people that would know now?"

His sock hung limp in his fist, forgotten. "I did notice that, yes."

A corner of her mouth twitched nervously. "So…"

He rose slowly up on his knees, looking at her expectantly. "So…?"

She was fidgeting with her rings now. "So…" Her voice came out soft, tentative even.

His hands landed on her knees in his eagerness, and he found himself breathlessly asking again. "So, Clara Oswald…are you actually agreeing to marry me?"

She noticed his hands. "Are you proposing with your sock?"

His eyes went wide as he embarrassingly whipped it behind his back. "No!"

Her face broke into a grin, and that was followed by a long, bubbly laugh. "Yes," she whispered, then bit her lip, possibly in surprise at how her eyes suddenly shone with tears.

He lunged forward, both hands clapping on her knees. "Yes?"

She nodded, grasping his face between her palms. "Yes."

Restrained no longer, he caught her lips in a hungry kiss, then leapt to his feet, pulling her off the settee, into his arms and spun her about. She laughed into his shirt as he practically danced them around the room, until he finally set her down and crushed her to him again, holding her and swaying a bit, as if they really were dancing, their silence broken only by little sighs of contentment, endearments or promises. Among them were remarks about how after everything they'd been through, they deserved some uncomplicated, peaceful happiness. They eventually returned to the settee, where he pulled her atop his chest, pressing her over the space where she had long since been etched.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Why now? I mean – you've tried to bring this up before, and we never talked about it. But you were pretty persistent tonight. So…is there something you're not telling me?"

He would return to this moment a lot later. At the time, it was nothing more than an innocent question posed with a teasing tone from the woman who had folded herself into him for the second time that night. Like this was where she was meant to be, and she would stay there with him in that exact spot until her curled limbs creaked with age and his back needed several pillows to support the two of them. At the time, he attributed the fleeting tightness in his chest and the vague feeling of unease to nothing more than ghosts of their past, reminders of all the secrets they had harbored and eventually spilled to one another.

"No," he assured her, resting his chin atop her head. "I just wanted us to have as long a future together as possible. I didn't want to look back on this time and know that we hadn't made the most of every moment we had with each other."

Clara hummed happily, sleepily. "Just checking."

In the end, no one could say that he'd lied to her.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Other Side of the Pons

**Author's Note: **Note the jump in time from the last chapter. We will now be progressing through time the normal way – really slowly and in the correct order. ;) Thanks to all that have reviewed, favorited and followed! And another huge thanks to my fabulous beta, V. Could never do it without you, hon! :)

* * *

**2011**

"Did you make this Snowman?"

"No."

"Well, who did? 'Cause it wasn't here a second ago…"

The two female voices from behind the bar filtered into the Doctor's drunken haze as he stared at his glass of neat vodka. Or was it vodka neat? Maybe he'd just asked for vodka on the rocks…he couldn't remember. Ah, but that was the point, wasn't it? Drinking until he couldn't even remember his drink order. Also, someone was making snowmen in the bar, and that was…_new_. Normally he'd think it was interesting and at least feel a faint flicker of curiosity, but he couldn't really muster the energy for interesting at the moment.

To be honest, he couldn't muster the energy for most things recently.

He took a swig of his drink, feeling the liquid _almost_ burn his throat as it went down. It _had_ burned his throat when he started – clearly the vodka had developed a fault. He was trying to partake in his new brethren's drink and it wasn't doing its job. He should report this to Idris, tell her to stop the sale because clearly the Swedes were not to be trusted. They couldn't even produce _alcohol_ that did its job – so how the hell could they run his company effectively? Well…not that he _cared_, of course…

A glass of…something…appeared before him. It was tall, bluish and looked like a cup of snow had been dumped on top of it.

"Do you want this? It's on the house."

He blinked at the drink, raising his head to locate the source of the voice. A short brunette with big, brown eyes looked back at him expectantly.

"What?"

"It's a Snowman."

He continued to stare.

Her eyebrow quirked at him. "Y'know? One of our holiday specials here?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the board with bright red and green chalky lettering that spelled out _Holiday Specials at The Big Blue Box_. "Turns out one of our customers ordered one but then changed his mind – d'you want it?"

A Snowman. How very fitting. "Seems like I can't escape ice people," he grumbled, fingers enclosing around the glass and sliding it closer.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." He took a sip, wincing at the cold as the crushed ice filled his mouth.

"Are you being pursued by giant snowmen?" Her tone was teasing, her red lips pursed.

"Something like that."

"Oh." She straightened, hands going to her hips. "Well, that's a new one. I haven't heard that one before." She sounded either impressed or amused. Possibly both.

He waved a hand vaguely. "I'm selling my company to ice people. Well – they're not _really_ ice people, but that's what we've been calling them since the company's name is Eisslaedi, except it's Swedish so maybe it has nothing to do with ice…or ladies. But I'm selling it to them because that's what you do when you own a business – you sell it. It's not personal – it's just business. Business is business and personal is…personal. The Universe doesn't care about personal, so why should I? I let business become too personal, but not anymore." He raised the Snowman to her. "So this is me – _not_ caring." He took a large swig and made a face. "You know, I think I would think this is a rather dreadful drink if I weren't so drunk."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's very sweet."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry." She reached for it. "We can get you something else if you don't like it."

"It's fine." He grabbed the glass back, tipping it a little and spilling some of the Snowman onto both their hands in the process. "Oh, look…it's snowing."

She withdrew her hand, shaking it off and reached under the bar, extricating a rag. "Here – let me get that." She wiped his glass down, lifting it as she swept the rag underneath. "Sure you wanna keep it?"

"Yes. G.I. Simeon would approve."

The glass slipped in her hand and she had to lean forward to catch it. She went completely still, rag wrapped around the glass. "What?"

The Doctor was making patterns in the condensation with his finger. "G.I. Simeon would approve of the snowy drink. He owns Eisslaedi – the _real_ Ice Man. Standing at the ready to instill us all with his icy values.

She set the glass down again, careful in her movements. "Sounds like you don't care for him all that much."

The Doctor let out a bitter laugh. "Ah, but see that's the beauty of _not_ _caring_. You can do business with people you absolutely _detest_, and it's okay."

She wiped down the area in front of him, her motions smooth again. "So what is your business? If you don't mind my asking?"

He leaned back in his chair, sighing. "TARDIS Industries is a small consulting firm with a large presence. Not too many people know about us, but we're global."

"You mean you've got offices in other countries?"

"Yes – we have offices in Europe, Asia and Australia in addition to here in the U.S. We used to have offices in Africa and South America as well but I scaled back after we got too big and too loud."

The brunette nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "That's good. Things always look different on the other side of the pons."

The Doctor's eyes widened, attention now riveted on the woman in front of him. "What did you just say?" he asked, voice quivering.

The woman shook her head a bit, appearing flustered. "Sorry – it's just a silly thing my dad always used to say. Like I dunno – you look like you might be a bit older than me, but do you remember those jingles from way back about body parts, like 'the hip is connected to the thigh bone' – that stuff?" She gave a short laugh like she was embarrassed she was sharing this. "Well – my dad _really_ got into it and decided that he'd pepper my childhood with these references, like instead of singing about cherubim and seraphim in Christmas carols, he'd replace them with cerebrum and cerebellum. Or he'd tap his funny bone and say, 'Gotta remember to be humurus about the situation!' – that kind of thing. Most of it was really groan-worthy, but then he came up with the one about the pons and well, that one stuck. I think it was 'cause he connected it with my life-long desire to travel 'across the Pond', and so it was kind of a reminder – 'things always look different on the other side of the pons.'"

The Doctor just stared at her.

She gave another chuckle, wiping at the same spot. "I remember I finally looked up what the pons did and was really disappointed to discover it was just a basic part of the brain stem, but it didn't matter by then 'cause to me, I guess…it was always just a reminder that if you look at things from another perspective - sort of change your mind around something, things might look different." The woman leaned forward, arms folding onto the bar. "But…do you want to know what I think?"

The Doctor leaned forward in his own chair as well. "Actually, yes. Strangely enough, I do."

Her gaze became softer. "I think…that if you really didn't care, you wouldn't have to spend so much time and energy pretending that you didn't. That if you _really_ thought any part of this merger or acquisition was worth it, you wouldn't be here sulking in The Big Blue Box."

The Doctor made some sort of affronted noise. "I'm not sulking."

"So this is celebrating, then?"

He splayed his hands in defeat. "There's nothing to be done now. Everything's getting finalized tomorrow morning."

"How's your counsel?"

"My attorney?" He snickered proudly. "She's ruthless."

The brunette smiled. "Good. Have her find a technicality, then. They always can."

He shook his head. "She's been over everything already, believe me. Multiple times."

"Then find something else."

He pushed at the napkin, soaking up the condensation on his mostly untouched Snowman. "There isn't anything else. 'Winter is coming.'" He gave her a sardonic smile.

She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the bar. "Okay, Lord Stark, be that way. But just remember that ice isn't unstoppable. It can melt."

He looked at her gloomily. "It's a Swedish company…the ice doesn't melt that far north."

"Well, then – you'll just have to introduce it to one of our hot New York summers." Her smile was triumphant, like she'd won an argument he didn't even know they'd been having.

The Doctor felt his own lips tugging upward, almost of their own accord, his eyes locking with hers. "What's your name?"

"Clara."

"Nice name – Clara. You should definitely keep it."

It was an odd thing to say, that was certain, but his comment prompted something wistful or sad in her face, like it had struck a chord with her. Then the moment was gone, and she glanced over her shoulder at something. "I'll be right back." Turning on her heel, she disappeared through the swinging doors, back into the kitchen.

He noticed that she'd removed his empty vodka glass and he couldn't stomach any more of the Snowman, so he fished out his wallet and removed several bills, laying them on the bar. He couldn't help but smile at his overly generous tip, picturing the look on her face when she returned.

Well…perhaps he still cared a _little_.

There was the entirely unpleasant sensation of the room tilting as he slid out of his chair, and he stumbled towards what looked to be an exit. Turned out it was the kitchen, but then after a few confused noises of surprise from the employees, he burst through the door to the alley in back. He almost ran into Clara, who let out a small shriek, hastily sticking her hand behind her back. Probably concealing a cigarette.

"You startled me – sorry." She leaned back against the wall of the building, other hand sneaking behind.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your cigarette break," he mumbled. Dammit. He was drunker now that he was standing and out in the cold. He hated it when that happened.

"No worries." Her voice was higher than it had been inside, probably from surprise and the fact that she wasn't wearing a coat.

"You're not wearing a coat," he remarked stupidly, sounding far less concerned than he felt.

She gave a slight shrug. "Won't be long." She eyed him with as much concern as he'd unsuccessfully communicated for her. "Do you need to find a cab?"

He reached in his pocket, thick fingers searching for his mobile. "I've got…limo." That was a complete sentence, wasn't it? "But…" He turned back towards her. "Clara who?"

There wasn't a lot of light, and he was very, very drunk, but he could've sworn that she actually stopped breathing for a second. Her gaze was steady as was her smile, though. "Why?" Her smile grew, became friendlier. "You haven't told me your name."

The Doctor's mouth quirked upward again. She seemed to have that effect on him. "My name is silly."

"Always wanted to meet someone called Silly."

His smile grew, despite his best efforts.

"Anyway, nothing wrong with silly."

He looked at her – or tried to – as he located his mobile. "My brother calls me 'Dag.'"

"So that's your name?"

"No." His thumb swiped through a few unhelpful screens. "People at work call me 'Boss.' Actually – no, that's not true – no one calls me 'Boss.' Don't know why I said that. But my Chief Security Officer calls me 'Sir.' As does my Chief Financial Officer." He pressed the button that would send his driver his location. "Amy calls me –" He stopped short, grip tightening around his mobile as his vision blurred. "I used to be called… 'Raggedy Man'…and 'Sweetie.' But not anymore…" He wouldn't look at her now as the guilt and self-loathing crept in, settling into their well-worn seats at the bottom of his soul.

"Well…Man With a Lot of Names…" Her voice was quiet and soft, a balm to his freshly re-opened wounds. "Get home safe, okay? And…good luck with the Ice Man. And the Ice Lady."

"Right. But how do you melt ice in the middle of winter?"

"You're a clever boy…I'm sure you'll figure it out."

The Doctor grunted in reply, wanting to see her one last time but unwilling to meet her eye. "Well…goodbye," he mumbled abruptly, shuffling his way to the end of the alley as lights appeared. The limo pulled alongside him and he basically fell inside, hand clutching his mobile almost desperately. "Home, please," he told his driver, pulling up the name of a woman who was sure to be a _very_ testy attorney.

She answered on the second ring. "There had _better_ be something on fire, Doctor…"

"There is! Or – there should be. There will be?" He scrubbed at this face, trying to locate the appropriate verb tenses. "We need to melt them, is the point. The Ice Man and the Ice Lady."

A long-suffering sigh sounded. "How drunk are you?"

"Oh, very, _very_ drunk. But that's not the point. The point is…I don't want to sell."

Her silence screamed in his ear for what was probably five whole seconds. "Doctor…"

"No, listen, Idris – listen, _listen_. I've changed my mind. I need you to find something that breaks the deal. No deal. We are _not_ dealing with ice people."

"Oh, not _this_ again! For the last time – their company has _nothing_ to do with ice! I told you that Eisslaedi is the name of Simeon's –"

"I don't care. I don't care what it is or what it means or who – I only care that we don't sell. Because Idris…I've found the other side of the Ponds."


	3. Chapter 2 - UKLVRB01

**Author's Note: **There is a bit of Swedish slamming in this chapter, but my grandmother is Swedish so I didn't have any qualms about it. :-p But apologies if it seems overly harsh. Another shout out to my fantabulous beta, Friendship-Bravery-Souffles for her unfailing support, understanding and fantasically detail-oriented eye. :)

* * *

Out of all the ridiculous contraptions his brother had invented over the years, the Doctor wondered why - as he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his head - Deck couldn't have invented sunglasses that darkened the light completely. Like some kind of visual version of noise cancellation headphones. It wouldn't have been so difficult, he surmised, and would have been far more useful than the various _things_ he'd shown off on the rare occasions that they crossed one another's paths. Which reminded him – it was Christmas Eve, so he should probably call him tomorrow. Well…he should at least text.

Thus the ride to the office was painful, to say the least, but upon pushing into the building, he felt an unexpected jolt of energy, lending fluidity to his movements and a spring to his step. This was the Doctor of old, the one who smiled and waved at the security guards and fervently wished them all a Happy Christmas as he flashed his ID and passed through. They would not have noticed the change in him this morning. His employees, however, knew better. They gawked at him with appropriately shocked faces as he breezed in with cheerful greetings for everyone.

"Morning, sir – you're looking chipper today." Jenny hurried to take his coat and scarf. "Coffee's on your desk – excited about the closing?"

"Nope." He spun around to face her. "Because we're _not_ selling!"

"What?" Jenny's mouth dropped open. "But Madam's already drawing up all the termination letters…"

"Well, tell Vastra she can stop because _no one_ is going anywhere!"

"Really?" Jenny's face lit up. "You mean no one is getting fired today?"

The joy and relief were so evident that the Doctor was momentarily overcome with shame. "No," he said. "And besides…what kind of CEO lets his people go on Christmas? And allows the rest of them to be overtaken by ice people?"

Jenny avoided meeting his eye, busying herself with hanging his things up. "Should I notify everyone then?"

"Yes," he replied as he headed towards his attorney's office. "I have to go talk to Idris now, but just a general alert to all the department heads will suffice."

"Just the department heads, sir?" She called to him as he hurried down the hall.

"It's not a secret – you can tell everyone else, too!"

Idris was perched on the edge of her desk, like she'd been waiting for him. "Good! Okay, so now that you've slept on it –"

"We're not selling, Idris."

She fixed him with a stare that generally made him wilt, hand going to the top of her head where several pieces of her corkscrew hair had already escaped from the messy pile on top. She gathered a handful of the pile, illustrating her insistence the night before that he'd someday make her go bald. "Doctor –"

"Did you find anything?"

She snapped the file shut, throwing it on her desk. "No! I told you that you can't just _will_ an excuse into existence like that! I've been over everything multiple times, and it's all sound. If anything, it's _generous_ –he's being especially kind, letting you keep some of your personnel –"

"_Doctor_!"

The Doctor spun around to see a flushed Jack Harkness gripping the edges of Idris' door as if he might rip it off its hinges. "What's this about us not selling?"

"We're not," the Doctor stated simply.

Jack nodded at Idris. "Did _you_ know about this?"

Idris let out a high-pitched noise of insult. "Absolutely not! I thought maybe _you'd_ talked him into it, with all your complaining about having to train Swedes to be _warm_. As if they didn't know anything about making sales over there…"

Jack held up his hands. "Look – I'm all for not being invaded by an army of ice people –"

"Oh, for the _last_ time, you boys _cannot_ keep calling them that –"

"-but isn't it pretty much a done deal?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No. Nothing's a done deal – not yet, anyway. And now it's time to talk to our numbers man." The Doctor ushered Jack out the door.

"But Doctor!" She cried in protest.

"Idris." He turned back to face her in the doorway, his tone resolute. "I am _not_ selling this company. Now, I understand that this will not be easy with all the time and energy everyone has invested to make it-"

"_Six _months, Doctor." She fixed him with another stare, though this one was designed to make him squirm rather than wilt. "You had _six months_ to think about this. And all that time, you never said a word. Not one misgiving during any of the meetings or conference calls; not one doubt when he laid out his terms – not a peep when you saw he was essentially forcing you to cut over half your staff, who you've cared about more than _anything_ in the past." She folded her arms across her chest, the perfect image of the woman who could ground him and leave him stranded unless she chose to cooperate.

Which meant now was not the time for throwing his weight around. Now was the time to appeal to her softer side.

"But see Idris, that's just it," he began softly. "I've been spending so much energy pretending I didn't care when the truth is – I never stopped. And if I am to save my staff from being cast out today – I _need _your help. You know I can't go anywhere without it."

She stared at him hard for a good five seconds before finally letting out a frustrated noise of defeat. "_Fine_. I'll give them another go – but I want you back here in _thirty minutes_."

He grinned at her. "Knew I could count on you, old girl." Then he ducked out quickly before she could throw anything at him in response.

Jack followed behind, hands flying animatedly. "I really, _really_ hope you can stop this –"

"That's why we're going to talk to your husband – _Ianto_!"

"But –" Jack stopped him before they reached Ianto's office. "If we can't, Doctor, if there's no good reason to stop the sale – I'll back you, believe me – I've got your back – but…Simeon will come after you." His face was grave.

The Doctor could feel a smile starting and he let it show, the return of his long-forgotten game face. "Let him."

Jack pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully, before a giant grin broke onto his face. He clapped his hands and punched the Doctor lightly in the arm. "Haha! You're _back_!"

The Doctor returned the grin, turning into Ianto's office and almost running into him.

Ianto jumped back. "Sorry, sir." He straightened his already impeccable suit. "You needed me?"

The Doctor clapped his hands on Ianto's shoulders. "Yes. I need you to go over Eisslaedi's financials again. I need you to find a reason for us not to sell."

Ianto nodded once. "Understood, sir. But there's just one problem."

"What?"

"We _have_ to sell."

The Doctor regarded the unimposing Welshman, never failing to marvel at how Ianto could bring his best-laid plans to a grinding halt with a few choice sentences. "What do you mean? Why?"

"Cash flow problems, sir." He gave a slight shrug, though his expression was appropriately serious for the situation. "We need the money."

"No, we don't."

"We do. We won't be able to keep our offices open without it."

The Doctor heard Jack's soft curse behind him.

"Or at the very least, we'd have to close the Melbourne office - and possibly the Geneva one, too."

The Doctor considered this. "Well…what if TARDIS were to receive a large injection of cash? What then?"

Ianto blinked at him. "From – where?"

"From me."

Ianto was eyeing him. "It would have to be a pretty significant injection of cash."

"That can be arranged."

"In the neighbourhood of millions…possibly tens of millions."

"Also can be arranged."

The normally unflappable man's composure cracked with the closest to shock the Doctor had ever seen. He composed himself with a deep breath, his words measured and slow. "Well…then I would say that we _wouldn't_ have to sell."

Jack let out the equivalent of a verbal fist pump behind him now. The Doctor smiled. "Excellent. Now I just need you to find something – _anything _- we can bring to Eisslaedi."

"I'll try my best, sir."

Jack gave his husband the thumbs up sign as he disappeared back into his office. "Actually, Doctor, I need to go talk to my team – if we're not going to sell, then I need to tell them they still have jobs."

The Doctor glanced at Jack sheepishly. "Tell them I'm sorry. I'll come talk to them myself, of course, but…I shouldn't have put everyone through this. I thought it was the right decision –"

Jack held up a hand, cutting him off. "No one blames you. Everyone knows you've had a tough time lately – and as long as they still have jobs, I think they'll be just fine."

"You really think so?"

Jack looked like he was pondering something very serious. "Or maybe just treat everyone to a night of drinks at The Big Blue Box. That'll smooth things _right_ over." Jack winked at him.

The Doctor shot him a look of appreciation, heading back towards his other department heads' offices to share the news. Despite the pain that throbbed at his temples, he had retained that lightness – that bounce to his step that had been missing for so long. He couldn't even remember the last time that he'd walked these halls with a smile on his face, and he actually waved to various employees in their cubicles as he passed. Just like the old days.

He reached the office of his Chief Security Officer first, poking his head in. "Strax?"

"Sir," came the uninterested reply from behind the computer screen.

"Can I come in? I just wanted to make sure you'd heard the news."

Strax let out a very long, very audible exhale. "I did, sir."

The Doctor swallowed at his tone. "And?"

The little man regarded him with something close to disgust. "Permission to express my disappointment."

"Permission…wait – _disappointment_?"

Strax squared his shoulders as if spoiling for a fight. "Eisslaedi's security system is unparalleled. They have automated retina scans, fingerprinting systems, and passcodes that rotate according to a binary algorithmic –"

"Yes, yes, I know – Grant Ivan Simeon is known for his…_paranoia_." The Doctor made an impatient gesture, refusing to let Strax's reaction spoil his mood. "What of it?"

Strax placed both palms on his desk and took deep breaths as though counting to ten. "There is _much_ we could have learned from a security system such as theirs, sir. The complexity of their procedures to obtain access to their firm is unlike anything I've ever seen outside the military."

"Well, you're ex-military – why not design and implement a system like theirs?"

"Unfortunately, I have always lacked the…_funds_ to design such a system." When he spoke, it was from between clenched teeth. "As it stands, we have only the most basic setup in place – which is nothing compared to Eisslaedi's capabilities. Why, if I had any appreciation for what people call…_art_…" he pronounced the word distastefully, "that is exactly the word I would use to describe their system."

The Doctor let out a sigh. "Considering that TARDIS is about to receive a healthy injection of cash, we'll see what's left over once we make sure we can keep the lights on and the rent paid. Maybe we can amp up our own security without the help of the Swedes."

"Doctor?"

Jenny had appeared in the doorway, knocking tentatively. "Sorry to interrupt, but – Madam's looking for you."

"Ah – yes. I'll be right there, Jenny." He turned back to Strax. "Sorry for the last-minute change, buddy – try not to let it ruin your day, eh?"

"I will aspire to fulfill your request, sir," replied Strax in a monotone.

"That's all I ever ask, Strax." The Doctor followed Jenny out. "You've informed everyone, right?"

"Sent out an email to the department heads ten minutes ago and received several replies already. You were cc'd, so they should all be in your Inbox, sir."

"Doctor!"

Vastra was standing with her hands on her hips, fingers tapping impatiently. She was less imposing than Idris, but still a formidable presence in her own right.

"Yes?"

She lifted her chin at him, drawing herself up to her full height. "Am I to understand that I am to cease composing all of the termination letters and re-open every file for each of these employees that I had previously wound down for payroll, taxes and medical insurance?"

The Doctor swallowed. The amount of work his employees had needlessly undertaken due to his sulking and inability to make good decisions was not lost on him. "Vastra –"

"Yes or no, Doctor?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, overwhelmed with a sudden desire to examine his shoes. "…yes?" he finally eked out.

But to his surprise, she simply nodded primly. "Well…glad to see you've finally come to your senses." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back into her office.

He let out a relieved sigh. At least that brought the list of people who didn't want to sell up to 3.5 or so. Ianto was a difficult read.

Assiduously avoiding Idris' office, he ducked into his own, finally settling behind his desk and turning on his computer. He was curious to see how the rest of his department heads had responded the news. He'd need _far_ more than three-ish people to support this last-minute change – especially if he was going to have to convince Idris.

But predictably, there was a knock at his door before his computer could even finish booting up. Ianto stood there, a small stack of paper in his hands. "Sir? Are you busy?"

"No, no – just – checking on some things, but – did you find something?" He stood up.

Ianto came forward, revealing Rita who was also waiting in his doorway.

"Ah – Rita – sorry, I was coming to see you, but – can you wait until after I'm done with -"

"Oh, no – she's with me," Ianto replied, beckoning her in with a jerk of his head.

"Except I don't really have anything to tell you," she protested to the Doctor.

"You can tell him what you told me."

"Which isn't much…"

"It's more than I could figure out."

Rita hesitated, then came forward to stand next to Ianto. "Fine – but you start."

"Right."

The Doctor cleared his throat. "So – what's going on? Did you find something, then?"

Ianto held up the papers. "Yes – right here." He handed them to the Doctor, who fished for his glasses and perched them on the bridge of his nose. "Though…I don't think you could exactly call it 'finding,' considering it was _sent_ to me."

The columns of numbers made little sense to the Doctor, a jumble of figures that made his hangover headache start to reassert itself with a vengeance. "Right. So…what am I looking at, exactly?"

"It's Eisslaedi's balance sheet. See the columns of numbers there – those are their assets and -"

"Yes, I can't really speak accountant right now – but haven't you shown this to me already? We got their balance sheet before, yes?" He peered at Ianto over his glasses.

"Well, yes, but – not this one."

The Doctor nodded, handing the documents back to Ianto as if pushing the offending numbers away could relieve the pounding on his skull. "Okay. So they sent us a new one, then?"

"Um – no. That's the thing – this is _definitely_ Eisslaedi's balance sheet, but it didn't come from them."

The Doctor frowned. "What? Then where did it come from?"

Ianto turned to Rita, nodding at her meaningfully. "We don't know," she replied with a grimace.

The Doctor removed his glasses. "I don't understand – how could we get a balance sheet from Eisslaedi if it wasn't sent by them?" He turned to Ianto again. "How did it arrive?"

"It was sent in an email last night, from some unknown address that's apparently untraceable and – well, I'll let Rita explain."

The Doctor held up a hand. "Just a minute – one thing at a time, please. First: Ianto. Explain to me how this balance sheet is different than the ones they've sent before."

"Ah. Well, this one demonstrates how they didn't account for all of their assets – there are some noticeably larger numbers in the far left column which are basically unknown sources of revenue. They are getting distributed to several different offshore accounts, which as you know – that itself isn't the issue –"

"Right -"

"- but they aren't G10 countries."

"Not G10 countries?"

"Yes, which if you recall, if you're not a G10 country that means –"

"You have dodgy banking procedures, yes." The Doctor struggled to follow him, gently massaging at his temples. "So – Eisslaedi has more money than they told us about and they're hiding it by funneling it into accounts in countries with dodgy banking procedures? Potentially for laundering purposes?"

"Most likely," Ianto agreed.

"So…tell me what the difference is between this document and all the balance sheets they sent before."

Ianto let out a long breath, eyebrows raising. "At the very least, everything they sent before was polished and doctored up to make it look legitimate. At the most…they were entirely fabricated."

The Doctor's face broke into a slow grin, and he couldn't help smacking the papers with the back of his hand. "Ha! Gotcha!"

Ianto smiled as well, making the Doctor think that perhaps his tally of people who didn't want to sell was up to 4 after all.

"Take this to Idris – it looks like we've found our smoking gun to halt the sale. Nice work, Ianto!"

"It wasn't me, sir, honestly – thank whoever sent it."

Rita leaned on one of the chairs after Ianto had exited. "As for figuring that out…"

"Yes, Rita, okay – talk to me. What do we know about who sent this email?" The Doctor motioned for her take the seat across from him.

"Well…" She sunk into it. "We know that it was sent from an IP address in Manhattan. We know that it was sent last night. And…"

The Doctor eyed her expectantly.

"That's it," she finished lamely.

"Okay, well…what was the email address?"

"U-K-L-V-R-B-0-1 at gmail dot com."

The Doctor pondered this. "Did you say 'UK?' Someone from back home, then, in the United Kingdom?"

Rita shrugged. "Impossible to tell. But it wasn't sent from the UK."

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Is it possible it stands for something? Some organisation – 'unified…kid…lovers of...very ridiculous bowties number one,' I don't know."

She chuckled. "Doubtful. So other than being able to identify what program he used, it doesn't really tell us anything."

"He?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "So you can tell a 'he' sent it?"

Rita rolled her eyes. "Sorry. Force of habit. This…person or group is _impressive_, though – especially with Eisslaedi's level of security." She let out a low whistle.

The Doctor gave a wry smile. "Yes, I was just treated to Strax nearly waxing poetic over their security."

She snorted. "I would've loved to hear _that_."

"No, I really don't think you would've."

Rita laughed. "Strax isn't wrong, though. You have to have some _serious_ knowledge to break through all of their layers, get in and get out without leaving a trail."

"Ah. So no trail, then?"

"Other than IP address, time stamp on the email and the program they used, we have literally no idea who sent this. Sorry." She shot him an apologetic look.

"Well…hopefully Idris won't need it. And anyway, it got us…wait." He leaned forward in his chair. "You said you knew the program they used. How did you know that?"

"Oh!" Rita exclaimed. "Right – I keep forgetting you don't know things like that..."

"Like what?"

"The email address they used. It's the same letters as the line of code you'd use to gain access to the Eisslaedi system – which can't be a coincidence."

"Line of code?"

"Yeah." Rita looked uncharacteristically bashful. "Um…in hacking circles, which – of course, _I'm _not in – but this was a pretty popular program three, four years ago. There was a piece of software that had the You Clever Boy program attached to it – oh, what was it called…?"

Something was nagging at the Doctor. "The – what?"

Rita's pounded the chair lightly with her fist. "Argh – I'm trying to remember what the software was called -"

"No – the other thing. What was the program called again?"

"The You Clever Boy program? I don't know if that's what the author of the program intended, but people started calling it that because of the letters he used."

"He?" This had all of a sudden become vitally important, though he couldn't articulate why.

Rita let out a self-deprecating sigh. "_Force of habit_. It could've been a she – or a group, which is more likely, actually…"

"You clever boy," the Doctor murmured, standing up and starting to pace. "You clever boy – what was…where did I hear that? You clever boy…" He rubbed the back of his neck, stopping at the window. "It was – recently, wasn't it? Someone called me a clever boy…it was -"

"…_do you melt ice in the middle of winter?"_

"…_The Ice Man. And the Ice Lady..."_

"How do you melt ice in the middle of winter?" The Doctor pressed his forehead into the glass, squeezing his eyes shut. "Who was I talking to?"

"What?"

"…_ice doesn't melt that far north."_

"…_our hot New York summers."_

"It wasn't in the summer, but…someone was talking about the summer. I remember that bit…"

Rita was shaking her head. "Umm…okay. _What_ are you talking about?"

The Doctor laced his hands behind his head, grabbing at his hair. "Someone called me a clever boy. Someone said -"

"_You're a clever boy…I'm sure you'll figure it out."_

And then his hands dropped to his sides. "Clara," he breathed.

"Who?"

"My bartender last night. She was…she was trying to convince me that I didn't have to sell to Eisslaedi – after she helped me realise I didn't _want_ to sell to Eisslaedi. She was adamant that I would find something – something that helped -"

"_How do you melt ice in the middle of winter?"_

"_You're a clever boy…"_

In two strides, he was back at the desk. "You said there was a time stamp on it – when was that email sent?"

"11:34."

The Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his mobile, his fingers almost shaking.

Rita was eyeing him. "What are you looking for?"

"When I called my driver last night. I was…a bit pissed, so I don't remember that well. But …" He swiped at the screen until he found his call history. "11:40." He looked up at Rita. "It was _her_."

"What was?"

The Doctor started pacing again, his memory returning in bits and pieces. "She went into the alley – I came upon her there. She was trying to hide something behind her back, and I thought it was a cigarette, but…what if it was a phone?" Excitement lit up his features. "What if she was contacting someone who had access to the program? Or what if…" He stopped dead in his tracks. "What if _she was the one who sent the file_?"

Rita was clearly losing her battle to keep a straight face. "Your…bartender?"

He stroked his chin, thoughts racing, noticing that he was breathing fast. "I'm going to go find her."

"You're _what_?"

The Doctor moved towards the door, almost bumping into Jenny and Vastra who had materialised from seemingly nowhere.

"Jenny, I'm going to run an errand -"

"Idris wanted to see you, sir," she started, following after him. "Can I tell her where you're going?"

"Best not." He started putting on his coat.

"Well, how about me? Where _are_ you going, Doctor? We have a lot to do here…"

The Doctor ducked his head as he put on his scarf, avoiding Vastra's piercing stare. "I'm going to find Clara."

"Who's Clara?"

"His bartender from last night," came Rita's reply from the doorway. "He's convinced that she's the one who sent the file." Her incredulous tone was not lost on him.

Vastra turned to her. "The balance sheets that Ianto received?"

"That's the one."

The Doctor could now feel the weight of Vastra's concerned gaze on him. As he looked up, he realised why it felt especially heavy: it was not just Vastra, but Jenny and Rita, too. There were three pairs of eyes, all with the same variations of worry and apprehension that had marred their features far too often on his behalf recently. But instead of his usual reaction of snippiness or lashing out at them, he found himself contrite, beseeching of their patience.

"Look…I know it sounds mad – I get that. And I know that there's the chance that she wasn't the one who sent us the file. But…but what if she was? What if I can get it from her in writing or…?"

A mad, impossible thought settled into his brain, making him smile.

"Or what, Doctor?" There was an urgency to Vastra's question. "What, exactly, will you do if you find this woman? This Clara?"

He was beaming now as he walked over to the lifts.

"I'm going to offer her a job."


	4. The Man With the Expensive Shoes

**Author's Note: **Ohh, my dear readers, I'm so sorry for the lag time between updates! Work has been overwhelmingly hectic and draining recently, leaving little time for much else. But I thank you for your patience with me and hope that this update whets your appetite for more (which I promise is coming!) Enjoy!

And, as always, many, many thanks to Friendship-Bravery-Souffles, who turned this around far faster than was warranted – especially considering I had not been nearly as speedy for her. You are still the best, V!

* * *

When the Doctor first burst into The Big Blue Box, he was very confused by how empty it was. Then, he remembered that it was just a little before ten in the morning…on Christmas Eve. However, this did make locating the manager far easier after the blonde behind the bar had shrugged at his inquiry. The conversation with the manager – Ronnie - started as a dead end, beginning with the shocking news that…

"She _quit_?"

Ronnie shook his head disdainfully. "Middle of her shift, too. Left me high and dry – and she was better'n'that, y'know? Leavin' at a time like this…" he grumbled.

"But – when? I was just here last night! Did she say why?"

"Nope. Just came to me and handed me her apron, saying she was sorry but she had to give her notice. Said she'd send someone to pick up her last check."

The Doctor collapsed into the very same chair he'd occupied the previous night, stupefied. "Well…she didn't happen to leave any way to get in touch with her, did she?"

Ronnie scowled at him. "Now look here, I get that she makes an impression on guys like you, but if she didn't give you her number, then I'm -"

"No, no – not like that!" The Doctor waved his hands. "It's to do with my company, actually – I thought I could –" He stopped before he could mention anything about giving her a job, seeing how much Ronnie was smarting from her sudden departure. "Anyway, it's to do with my company."

"Look, pal, at least you're not flashing a badge at me like the other guy was, but I wasn't born yesterday and if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck –"

"Wait –" the Doctor cut him off before he could complete his duck analogy. "What other guy?"

Ronnie snickered. "Yeah, how 'bout that? Some other guy beat you to the Clara punchbowl by a long shot – he was in here last night just after she left, asking about her, too."

The Doctor's interest piqued further. "Who was he – do you know?"

Ronnie started polishing a stack of glasses behind the bar. "He said he was from some government agency, wanted to know how long she'd worked here, where'd she'd gone – stuff like that."

"A _federal agent_ was looking for her?"

"Nah – he _said_ he was a Fed. But I know he was lying through his teeth."

"But you said he had a badge – what makes you so certain he wasn't?"

Ronnie snorted. "Anyone can throw something official-looking together and flash it at you. But his shoes told a different story."

"His – shoes?"

Ronnie wiped at a spot on the bar. "Yeah. See – my pop owned a shoe repair shop down on Thirty-Seventh when I was growing up, and he'd do a couple of shifts at Grand Central Station during the week. I used to go with him to help with the shoe shining, and he taught me everything I know about shoes. He also taught me that you can figure out all you need to know about a guy just by looking at his shoes."

"Can you?" The Doctor was intrigued, examining his own shoes thoughtfully. "What can you tell from mine?"

Ronnie chuckled, walking around the bar as he wiped his hands on a rag. He nodded appreciatively. "Those are nice – I'm guessin' they probably cost you 2, 300 bucks? Are they Basso?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

He gave the Doctor a knowing smirk. "Didn't buy them yourself, huh?"

"No." An image of him in his initial chosen outfit of hand-me-down tweed jacket with elbow patches and bowtie flitted through his mind. "I was told a while ago that if I was allowed to dress myself, I'd end up looking like a raggedy –" He swallowed. "Well…that is – I'd end up looking like a professor instead of a businessman."

"She has nice taste. There are some scuff marks you should get taken care of, though. This weather does a number on the leather if you don't treat it properly."

The Doctor harrumphed, tucking his feet underneath the chair self-consciously. "So what about this fake federal agent? Did he have scuff marks on _his_ shoes?"

"Not a one. And while you've got a nice pair there, these shoes were high-end leather, soft as butter. They easily set him back two grand."

The Doctor gaped at him. "Two thousand dollars?! For a pair of shoes?"

"Easily. He either had them made special, judging by the way they contoured to his foot, or he went directly to the source." Ronnie leaned on the bar. "Now – I might not know a lot – but I _do_ know that a g-man could not possibly afford a two thousand dollar-pair of shoes – let alone afford to keep them in such –" He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them to illustrate – "condition."

"So…clearly a man of great means…but why would he pretend to be a federal agent?"

"They think if they flash somethin' at you, you'll spill everything you know like that." Ronnie snapped his fingers.

The Doctor leaned back in his chair, pondering. "So he wanted information about Clara and he wanted it quickly."

"Now that I think about it, he acted less like an over-eager customer and more like a jilted lover or a jealous ex. The way he was firin' questions at me? Man had a schedule to keep or somethin'." Ronnie eyed the Doctor. "Nothing like the way you've been asking about her."

The Doctor frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ronnie shook his head, coming back around the bar. "This guy was _all_ business, just wanted to know as much as he could – what she'd been up to, her whereabouts and all that. You look like you'd ask me her favorite color so you could show up with the right bouquet of flowers or something."

The Doctor's denial was a highly unfortunate combination of spluttering and blushing. "That's not – I didn't - like I said it's to do with my company. So the only colour I'll be discussing with her is green."

Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "'Cause you work for an environmental firm or you want something to match her eyes?"

"Aren't Clara's eyes brown?" He realised his mistake too late, but Ronnie just chuckled knowingly.

"Like I said – this guy was _really_ just business."

"So am I," the Doctor insisted, stiffening his posture as he straightened himself in his chair. "For example," he began mildly, "do you know whether she knew anything about computers?"

Ronnie was back to his earlier scowl. "What is it with you guys these days?"

"Sorry?"

He let out something of a disgruntled sigh. "If you guys had known anything about her, you'd know that Clara _hated_ technology."

This floored the Doctor. "She – _what_? How do you know?"

"It was her 'thing.' And I wouldn't have known except there was this one time when this guy came in here who was a Ryan Gosling look-alike, and Elsie – one of the other girls – wanted her picture taken with him and asked Clara to do it. Except Elsie's battery was dying so she asked Clara to take it with her phone instead and then just text it to her – 'cause apparently this guy was on a date and so Elsie didn't want to barge in _too_ much." Ronnie rolled his eyes. "Anyways – Clara started looking for someone else's phone to take it with, and Elsie got annoyed and kept pestering Clara to do it with her phone till Clara finally admitted that she couldn't 'cause – get this – _she didn't have a camera on her phone_."

The Doctor couldn't help his gawping. "What? Who doesn't have a camera on their phone these days? Who even _makes_ phones without cameras these days?"

Ronnie nodded. "That's what we were all saying. But she got all defensive, talked about how technology had taken over our lives or something – turns out her phone was as simple as they come. So someone jokingly asked her if she even had an email address. And she got real quiet..." Ronnie raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

The Doctor found his head falling into his hand. There went his back-up plan. "No email?"

Ronnie shrugged. "She said something about how handwriting was more personal, or how not enough people appreciated typewriters, I dunno."

His mind was reeling. "This doesn't make any sense," he murmured. "I was so certain it was her, but…perhaps it really was just an odd coincidence."

"Whaddya mean?"

Now it was the Doctor's turn to be dismissive. "Oh – nothing. Well – not nothing, just…someone sent me a file soon after I met her that could only have been obtained with a rather infamous hacking program. Or so I'm told. And…I thought it might've been her who sent it."

Ronnie's jaw dropped wide open, which was soon followed by a deep, throaty laugh. "Clara Oswald – a _hacker_?"

The Doctor's cheeks flamed whilst Ronnie laughed himself silly, one of his hands making some half-apologetic gesture to acknowledge his rudeness. "Ohhh – oh, now _that's _a good one." He let out another high-pitched giggle.

The Doctor drummed his fingers on the bar, bristling. "What? It's not that far-fetched…"

Ronnie wiped at his eyes. "Sorry, sorry, just – it's just I still remember the conversation when Clara found out about Twitter!" And he let out another series of cackles.

"Yes, well…clearly I have it all wrong." He abruptly pushed himself back from the bar and extended a stiff hand to Ronnie. "Thank you for your time, Ronnie. Glad I could at least provide some…entertainment, I suppose."

His clipped, business-like tone had the desired effect on Ronnie, who sobered right up as he shook his hand. "No problem. But between you and me, Doctor, whatever it is you really want with her…" He lowered his voice, his expression darkening. "I actually hope you find her first. She might've left me high and dry in our busy season, but if had to do with _that_ guy?" He shook his head, his meaning clear. "Anyways – I hope you find her first."

A feeling of unease washed over the Doctor as he nodded. "Yes. I hope so, too. Though…actually one more thing – do you know if Clara smoked?"

"You and your weird questions, Doctor. But nah, she didn't smoke. Barely drank, actually – she'd sneak shots of water or Coke and stuff when she had to do shots with customers."

The Doctor pondered this. "So – she wouldn't have had a reason to all of a sudden need a break, then?"

Ronnie snorted. "Are you kiddin' me? A _break_? Clara didn't take breaks – the woman was like a machine sometimes."

The Doctor was starting to add up the image of her in the alley to the man in the expensive shoes, and the result wasn't pleasant. "Well, she was taking a break when I left last night, and…she seemed to be hiding something, too. I thought it was a cigarette, but…"

Ronnie's eyes narrowed to a glare. "What are you sayin'? That she was involved in something shady?"

The Doctor held up his hands. "I'm not saying she was, it's just…the timing of the man looking for her right after I saw her trying to hide something – especially if he was so determined to _find_ her -"

"So you just assume that what? She owed him money? That she was into drugs?"

The Doctor winced at what he'd been afraid to voice himself. "Well…I'm not saying it's the only explanation, but -"

"You think they can help what kind of creeps they attract?" Ronnie gave him an obvious once-over, then stabbed a finger in his direction. "Go back to your wife, and stop chasin' after the latest tail."

The Doctor stiffened, looking Ronnie in the eye. "I am _not_ chasing tail, and…anyway, I'm divorced."

"Yeah?" Ronnie sneered. "What a shocker." And with that Ronnie abruptly turned and pushed back through the kitchen doors, effectively ending their conversation.

After the Doctor had successfully hailed a taxi, he slumped down into the seat, moodily mulling over the _absence_ of information he'd obtained. What had he learned from it? Other than no answers, only more questions and the opposite of what he'd been seeking. And now there was even _further_ mystery (and further doubt, as much as he didn't want to admit it) as to who this woman was.

He _did_ learn one important thing, though, and that was her full name. Clara Oswald.

Maybe she hadn't sent him the file. From what it sounded like, it seemed extremely unlikely. But what he did know was that it sounded like she might be in some kind of trouble. Drugs? Jealous lover? Jilted ex? Borrowed money from the wrong people? None of those was supposed to be his concern. He could just imagine the fuss Idris would put up if he suggested otherwise…

But she'd helped him. When no one else had been able to pierce that armour of self-loathing he'd cloaked himself with…she had. By telling him a story. And before that, for putting his recent behaviour in rather stark perspective, something every one of his friends had either been too afraid, too disgusted or too unaware to do. But maybe that's why it had worked, though: she'd been an outsider. A random woman who had popped into his life, told him what he'd _needed_ to hear instead of what he _wanted_ to hear – and now her purpose was over. She had just been a friendly bartender who'd offered him a bit of advice and turned his life around. There was no need to assume that she was also some master hacker who'd been able to break through G.I. Simeon's fortress-like security and send him a file he desperately needed to bow out of the sale. All from a smartphone that she wouldn't apparently have even known how to use…

There was nothing for it, then. He let out a sigh as he stepped through the lifts, still managing to give Jenny a smile when she was there to reach for his coat.

"Any luck, sir?"

He shook his head. "No. But that's okay – perhaps it's just as well. Where are we with everything?"

"Idris and Ianto have been in her office since you left, but I know that Rita was looking for you. Should I tell her you're back?"

"No need – I'll go see her myself. Thanks, Jenny."

There was still a noticeable buzz of activity as he made his way over to Rita's office. It was such a welcome change from the abysmal, nearly funereal atmosphere of the last several months. He tried not to let the stabs of regret darken his mood, though, as he knocked on Rita's door. "You were looking for me?"

Rita glanced up from behind her computer screens, the light of discovery in her eyes. "Yes! But– did you find her? That bartender named Clara?"

The Doctor shook his head in disappointment as he sank into the chair across from her desk. "No. She quit last night during the middle of her shift. And…well. It was a long shot. But what did you find?"

"Hmm. You didn't happen to find out her last name, did you?"

"Yes, but – it couldn't have been her. She apparently hates technology and knows nothing about computers." His tone was gloomier than he would have liked.

"Really?" Now Rita was the one who was disappointed - his mood seemed to be infectious. "Huh. Well – I did some digging on that piece of software I told you about – you know, the one that had the You Clever Boy program attached to it?"

"Yes."

"So from what I could tell it was made by some small company called Oswin Technologies - based in Cardiff, of all places. Their original product was software for kids, but then all of a sudden it started popping up in hackers' circles with chatter about the hidden code attached to it."

"Cardiff," the Doctor mused. "Interesting. She was from the UK but she definitely wasn't Welsh."

"Oh. Was she English, though?"

"Yes, but like I said it couldn't have…wait. English? Why did you ask if she was English?"

Rita shrugged. "Because Clara Oswald was English."

The Doctor started. "What?"

"The woman who founded Oswin Technologies? She was English."

The Doctor was on his feet in an instant and came around behind her desk. "Clara Oswald? That was her name?"

"Yeah." She looked up at him. "Was that the bartender's name, too?"

"Yes, but…" He let out a noise of frustration. "Like I said it couldn't have been her – the manager practically laughed me out of the bar when I suggested she could be a hacker. But – there _has_ to be something connecting them. What else did you find?"

Rita clicked through a few screens. "Not much. Just that she founded this company four years ago, and then…disappeared. Vanished. It was right around the time that her software started getting big in hacking circles, so maybe that's why."

The Doctor pondered this. "Vanished, eh?"

_Like unexpectedly quitting in the middle of her shift…_

_Or like Amy and -_

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. "Do you know if anyone was looking for her?"

Rita shot him a surprised look. "Yeah, they were, actually. The tone of the chatter changed, from what I could tell. People started posting about how 'she should pay' or 'she needs to answer for what she did.'"

"Oh, dear. That doesn't sound very good. Like maybe she hacked something big? Or did something radical?"

"That's one possibility. Although – these circles can also just be fickle like that, bit of mob mentality. One person starts, and others start chiming in, too."

The Doctor nodded. "But again – it _can't_ be her! The manager said he still remembered the day she found out about Twitter!"

"It really could just be a coincidence, Doctor. I'm sure there's more than one Clara Oswald from the UK…"

The Doctor sighed. "Yes. And I suppose there's no way to make sure, is there? There didn't happen to be a website for Oswin Technologies with a picture of this Clara Oswald attached?"

Rita shook her head. "No, no website. Also because Oswin Technologies was taken over by Dallex -"

"Dallex?" the Doctor asked in alarm.

Rita grimaced. "I know…you get a shiver down your spine just thinking about it, don't you?"

As if to illustrate, he shuddered. "Yes. And – did she go with them?"

"There's no indication that she did, no."

The Doctor couldn't help but feel a measure of relief at that.

"Doctor!"

He nearly jumped out of his skin, the voice was so shrill. He stood frozen, his spine ramrod straight. Idris had silently materialised in Rita's doorway.

He turned towards her sheepishly. "Ah – Idris…yes, I was planning on coming to see you directly after speaking with Rita. Rita, we're finished now, aren't we?"

Rita eyed Idris bemusedly. "As far as I can see, we are."

"Excellent." He ushered Idris out the door. "Like I said, I was coming to see you."

"Coming to see me about what, exactly?" She'd stopped, hands on her hips. Not a good sign.

"Well – about where we were on everything, of course." He tried his best not to look like a kid who was holding a nicked biscuit behind his back.

"I see. You mean you're _not_ too busy chasing down a bartender that you somehow think is also a master hacker based on one conversation and a shared name with a woman who founded a Welsh based technology firm?"

With one motion she'd wrenched his arm from behind him, pried his fingers open and mockingly dangled the biscuit in front of his face. "How long were you standing -?"

"Long enough." She thrust an impatient hand at him. "We have _work_ to do, Doctor – undoing six months of a merger is going to take more than just the one phone call, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know – but I thought that if I could find her, it might help verify that the file was –"

"Was what? Obtained illegally?" She stopped as they reached her door, lowering her voice from its usual higher pitch. "Even if you _had_ been successful in finding her, unless she revealed that she was actually an employee of Eisslaedi, having her confirm the origins of the file wouldn't help – not at all. So you can stop looking for her. I don't know why you became so fixated on this _ridiculous_ notion of yours, but promise me that you're now done with this silly venture."

Normally, Idris could wrangle any promise from him as he was utterly reliant on her to steer him in the right direction. Yet something in him rebelled as she stood there; something gnawed at him to hide this quest of his and push on. So he stuffed his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders in a show of defeat. "Of course – yes, I promise," he lied.

And _oh_, did he lie.


End file.
